


Supplicatio

by MusicalButt



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom
Genre: Latin, Latin Grammar, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Xeno, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 13:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9609152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalButt/pseuds/MusicalButt
Summary: Tentacles and Latin grammar. Enjoy!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sacrifice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533174) by [Eros_Scribens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros_Scribens/pseuds/Eros_Scribens). 



After the weeks of ritual prayer and purification, after the ritual bath, I enter the most holy chamber. I have shed my clothing and my mortal aspirations. It is time.

I have never seen the Lord of Inflection, only sensed his terrifying power in the back of my mind, but now I am to see him with my mortal eyes and feel him with my mortal flesh.

I step into the ritual circle, desire and fear building together in the pit of my stomach. What will I see? What form will burn itself into my retinas, and leave me forever unable to unsee it?

A mist shimmers before me, and then it slowly begins to solidify. A humid wind begins to blow. The candles in the room all go out.

But I can still see; an eldritch light emanates from within the ineffable being—the one to whom I have devoted years of my life. My weak mortal brain struggles to make sense of the form that lies before me. I blink, try to concentrate, try to push aside the fear that keeps me from truly perceiving my Lord's true being.

I see a tremendous, monstrous shape, somehow bigger than the ritual chamber itself. An immense head towering over me, a myriad of undulating tentacles before me and around me. I want to drop to my knees, but remember that the scriptures tell me to stand.

A sound, now, a low rumbling that almost sounds like words.

"Yes, my Lord?" I say, my voice squeaking despite my attempts to sound calm and reverent.

Now I can hear the words, but I cannot discern the meaning. " _Pedicabo ego te et irrumabo_ ," he intones.

Latin? In all my years of study and worship, none of the sacred texts had been written in Latin. Is this the ultimate test my Lord has set for me—to understand the infernal language I studied for a semester in high school? Is this how he aims to stagger and humble my brain?

"I don't speak Latin, my Lord," I say timidly, bowing my head.

"I know all," the titanic shape rumbles, in a voice so low I can feel its vibration in my fundament. "I know you have studied it; I was watching that night you crammed for the final exam, before you were even my disciple. Now, speak your devotion to me! Use Latin, even the simplest sentence!"

I stand there, frozen, with decades-forgotten blackboards, textbooks, conjugations, declensions flashing before my eyes. My anus puckers. This was not what I had come here for.

"Um... _vir... in domum est_? _Agricola... feminam amant_? _Amat_? My Lord..."

"You will address me in Latin," he declares.

"Do I even remember that word? Um... _Dominus_?"

"Declension, mortal, declension," he spits, although I do not see his mouth move. A tentacle snakes itself around my bare leg, and I shiver.

" _Dominus, domini_ , um... _domino, dominum, domino_ ," I sputter. The tentacle begins to tickle my buttocks.

"It is second declension masculine, mortal. What have you forgotten?" The tentacle slides between my buttocks ever so slightly, and I gasp.

My mind panics, searching for every time I've heard this word, as the tentacle slides closer and closer to my anus. And there it is: that year we'd sung the Requiem in high school choir. " _Domine_!" I shout, and the tentacle slips itself inside.

I have never felt a pleasure like this in my life, so intense and so terrifying. I know he could kill me instantly if he wanted to, yet he strokes me gently from the inside, caressing my nerves in a tantalizing pattern that sends my member to full attention. I will recite every Latin word I have ever heard if it means that this pleasure will never stop.

"Very good, my little mortal one," he says, almost purring, stroking me to the rhythm of his words. "Now praise me in Latin."

What can I say that is not some inane statement about a dog or a boy or a girl? How can I praise this ineffable being which has manifested himself to me, despite my unworthiness, and is drawing sexual sensation out of me that I did not know I could feel?

My mind searches the lyrics of the Requiem again, trying desperately to concentrate despite the sensation overwhelming my brain. _Benedictus_ , that's a good word; does it need to be inflected? I do not know. I try it. " _Benedictus est, Domine_ ," I moan.

Another tentacle snakes itself into my anus, and my knees buckle. I fall onto my hands and knees, my left hand almost leaving the ritual circle.

"Have you forgotten your conjugations too, mortal?" he says with sharpness in his voice, as his tentacles caress the front and back walls of my rectum at the same time.

I try to catch my breath. "Please be merciful, my Lord," I whimper.

"Recite the present indicative conjugation of _esse_ ," he says. _"Ego sum, tu—_ "

" _Ego sum_ ," I repeat, and one of the suction cups on his tentacle affixes itself to my prostate. My mind is drowned in pleasure; my mouth lets out an involuntary scream. As my orgasm overtakes me, I suddenly remember. " _Tu es_!" I shout as I spend myself on the chamber floor.

"Very good," he says, a snicker in his voice. "What comes next?" His tentacles start to move inside me again, and I cannot think; his power has overwhelmed my mortal brain.

"I cannot remember, my Lord," I cry. "Please forgive me."

The tentacles withdraw from my anus, and I whimper with the loss.

"I had promised _irrumatio_ , but you are not ready," he says. "Practice the rest of the conjugation. When you have written it one hundred times, I will return."

"Please—" I cry.

There is a cold wind. I look up, and he is gone.


End file.
